Fragrance
by Celestialdome
Summary: Working the fragrance counter was, in short, the worst job ever. "Not quite,"she revised, "not quite." Random Meeting One Shot


A.U.: Came to me while I was sitting at a gas station. I knew those plot bunnies where hiding in my mom's car!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Fragrance: Completion date: Oct. 8, 2009. Words: 1,181. Chapters: One-Shot

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Sarah sighed, and tweaked the alignment of the boxes one more time. It's not like they where off, she just needed something to do. Checking her wristwatch that had fallen to the inside of her wrist, pitifully sighing again. _Two more hours until my shift's over._ She leaned onto the glass counter and gazed out at the wide hall before her. People where bustling about, children tugging their parents in the direction of the toy store, the sickly sweet couples PDAing in the middle of the open space. Freedom was tantalizing, it was not thirty feet from where she stood, yet the constricting display case kept her corralled in. Working the woman's fragrance counter at the department store was, in short, probably one of the most despicable jobs, in her opinion.

_Not quite,_ she revised, _not quite._

She could still be working at the gas station. The confusing smell of lavender and roses, sugar and musk was much preferable to the suffocating smell of diesel and octane. Though she loved the fact that she rarely had to talk to anyone, most paid at the pump, but she would get the rare man or woman who had to buy a smoke. And she always seemed to get the ones who thought she was heavens answer to their prayer for life long companionship (or at least for the night) and didn't seem to want to subtly say it. (Her relief at six p.m. couldn't understand, "they're always so polite and gentlemanly!" she would exclaim.) Karen couldn't understand why Sarah hated having them hit on her, but then again, Sarah was nearly twenty now and hadn't had a date. Ever.

And so now she was stuck in a prison of colorful boxes and older women with plastic faces handing out spritz cards to anyone who cared to look them in the eye. It was nearing the holiday season, though not close enough for Sarah to be swamped with customers. She checked her watch again, not five minutes had passed. She decided there must be a tear in the time-space continuum that made time go slower and it had the audacity to place its self in her workplace. Leaning further, Sarah rested her head in her palm and counted dots in the ceiling tiles above her head.

She was somewhere near two hundred when she heard the man, "I said, 'Excuse me.'" Sarah started and adjusted her uniform which consisted of a blouse, vest, and ribbon tie around the collar.

"And how may I help you?" she asked politely. She couldn't see the man's face real well, it was hidden behind a black felt fedora as he kneeled in front of the display case.

"I assume you could help me, if you're not to busy counting ceiling tiles," he nearly spat out. It was rather humorous, to hear a clipped British accent so forced and angry. "I'm looking for a fragrance an acquaintance of mine might like to receive as a gift. I was hoping that a few friends of mine could have made it for me, but they are as incompetent as ever." He waved his hands in exasperation.

"Well, if you could tell me what kind of overall scent you're looking for and you're relationship to this _acquaintance_, that would be of some help," Sarah calmly replied. Calm was the best way to deal with an angry customer, that and to work with them, not against them. Like in biology, it was way easer to do simple diffusion than to actually use energy for active transport. Sarah shook her head, she didn't need to think of such frivolous topics as biology at a time like this.

He placed his hands on his knees and started to stand up, keeping his gaze on the ground. Sarah could now see a bit of his cheek bones, and thought she saw a bit of a blush. "She's, I guess what one would call a love interest," he said slowly. Sarah bit back a girlish giggle.

"Roses are typical for that kind of application," she motioned to a few plain looking boxes, "but I've always preferred things like wild flowers or something with a hint of spice." The man shook his head in consideration

"No, no, no, dearie, what you want is something with some _heavy_ musk," a new voice chimed in, "let her know how much you _want _her. _Heavy_ on the _want_." Sarah looked to see the spritz card lady walk over, ready to hand the man one of the foul smelling cards.

"HEY! No trying to hit on the patron," the phrase came out much more feral than Sarah had intentioned, but the lady got the point and backed away. Sarah snatched the offending piece of cardstock from the man and threw it out. She turned back to the man, who had once again turned his head back to survey the boxes in front of him. "Look, sorry about that," she apologized, "her husband probably left her again, and you breath, walk, and have all the right parts." The man had moved down to the far end of the counter.

"That one," he said definitively. Sarah opened the case and pulled out the box. She nearly whistled at the price tag. This guy sure had expensive tastes. But she turned around and rang it up anyways.

"That'll be eighty dollars, sir," she turned to put the box on the counter, finding a few twenties laid out, she counted the bills. "Um, your change is,"

"Keep it." The man turned to go, whisking away the box with him. It took Sarah a few moments to register what he said.

"Oh," she said quietly, and then louder, "Oh, uh, thank you sir!" the man stopped at the edge of the tile flooring, and turned to face her.

He removed his hat, and twirling it a bit, bowed, and replied, "My pleasure, my lady." Coming out of his deep bow, his head re-emerged from behind the sale display. Sarah's heart nearly stopped, except it speed up. Hair blonder than blonde. Eyes a startling and piercing blue, though one just a shade darker than the other.

Could it really be?

But by the time Sarah's mind had caught up with her racing heart, the stranger had replaced his hat, exited, and disappeared in the fray. Sarah knew it was impossible to play where's Waldo in the ever changing scene in front of her. He could have melted in with the toy crazed children, hidden behind a couple making out, or when a power shopper passed by, took the chance to play with her brain and take running. She sighed and checked her watch, still another hour and forty five minutes. There really had to be a time-space continuum tear in this department store. And now she was reduced to counting dots again until Karen came and rescued her. Now where was she again, oh yes, 201…202…


End file.
